


Details

by Lassarina



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is the highest-ranking traitor in all Gestahl's long reign, and she sits in her cell and waits for him to kill her.  What happened to Celes after the events in the Magi-Tek Facility?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Details

There are one hundred full tiles and ten half tiles on the ceiling. There are seventeen cracks and four holes in the floor. The east wall is a slightly different colour of metal than the other three; it looks to have been forged at too hot a temperature, and had she access to her magic, she might be able to break it with well-placed Blizzara spells. She can count exactly how many threads crisscross beneath her hand as it rests on the blanket. She can hear each noise the other prisoners make.

She sits cross-legged on her cot, eyes closed, and meditates. There is little else to do. She is not out training soldiers, nor fighting battles on behalf of the Returners, nor discussing strategy with her fellow generals. She is the highest-ranking traitor in all Gestahl's long reign, and she sits in her cell and waits for him to kill her.

This captivity, unlike the previous one, has provided her with long hours in which to memorize the details of her cell. It has also provided her with the opportunity to hone certain of the gifts from her infusion: she had always recognized that her senses were sharper than most, but had had little opportunity to hone that ability. Here, she has nothing but time. So she practices extending her senses, and notes that the guard with the night watch upstairs has a slight limp, probably not enough for his commander to even notice, but she can hear the faint hesitation before every other step. The guards at the end of this hallway like grilled onions. There are faded rust-brown lines at the join of floor and wall in the north-west corner of her cell, which lack the texture to actually be rust and must therefore be ancient blood.

They wrestled Kefka in here three days ago by her count, and he has not shut up since. His whooping laughter makes it difficult to pick out the smaller sounds, but she has trained herself to do exactly that, filtering through the deranged ranting and threats against the Emperor to listen to what the guards at the end of the hall talk about. Mostly they brag about conquests in brothels and pubs, but from an offhand remark she learns that Leo campaigned long and hard with the Emperor to punish Kefka for his actions at Doma.

Five days ago, horrible shrieks rent the air and the entire building shook for hours. She smelled smoke and overheated metal, and assumed the Returners had finally picked their moment to attack. Later, she had learned that Espers freed from the Sealed Gate had gone berserk and attacked Vector thanks to the Magitek research facility. She allowed herself a tiny, pleased smile when she found that out.

In the here and now, the air pressure changes slightly, and she smells the faintest hint of fresh soap and starch. The guards' clothing rustles suddenly, from which she infers they must be saluting a commanding officer. Metal jangles, scrapes, and creaks, and she hears footsteps coming down the hall toward her. The sound is that of army-issue boots, and the rustle of fabric suggests a freshly cleaned uniform. The soldier walks with a measured, even tread. The scents grow stronger.

The steps halt outside her cell. She can scent other things on the soldier as well: fresh air, leather and steel. She opens her eyes as keys scrape in the lock.

The door swings inward on its hinges. General Leo steps into her cell.

She rises out of habit and salutes him. Her sleeve falls back to expose the thin iron bangle on her wrist, carved with runes and humming with magic. It keeps her from speaking, and thus from shaping spells.

"As you were," he says. Out of habit, she falls into a parade-rest stance.

"Leo, you filthy cow, I'll see you dead for this!" Kefka shrieks from the other end of the hallway.

Leo ignores their fellow general and looks directly at her. "I require your assistance," he says quietly. "Come with me."

She follows him out of the cell, past the guards and through Vector's tangle of metal hallways. There are far more sights, sounds, and smells here; she filters through them as she did Kefka's screaming. Leo leads her back to the rooms that were formerly her quarters.

"I dared not speak of this while Kefka listened," he says. He turns to face her, and hesitates. "Are you well?"

She nods.

He produces a key from his pocket and reaches for her wrist. A moment later, the bangle opens and she feels the constant pressure in her throat fade.

"The Emperor has ordered me to Crescent Island, to negotiate with the Espers to try to turn their aggression away from us," he says. "You're to accompany me, as well as two of the Returners."

"Just like that?" It feels strange to speak after three weeks of being silenced.

"You were the first of us to realize the sheer stupidity of this war. The first to have the determination to do something about it. The Emperor agrees with me, and he has authorized your release."

"I see."

"I've had your garments cleaned. We depart as soon as you are ready, General Celes."

He leaves the room and she bathes and dresses quickly. She can still smell him as she dons her boots and arms herself. She tells herself that the moment she spends standing still in the center of her room is to prepare for battle, rather than to wish that once, just once, Leo would have looked at her as an attractive woman, and not as a comrade or apprentice.

That damned treasure hunter is having a deleterious effect on her self-discipline. She sneers at her own weakness and strides out of the room to find Leo.

~*~

It is unbearably hot in Albrook, and humid with it. Celes far prefers the mountains to the north, or better yet, Narshe, to this heat that makes her feel like she is drowning from the air alone. Leo seems unaffected, but he grew up here and she knows he finds Vector cold from time to time.

She waits near the ship, listening to the men argue companionably about which of them is the best at handling the Magitek Armour. The ninja that Leo hired is somewhere about, but he is so skilled at moving quietly as to be a challenge even to her enhanced senses. Every now and again she hears the faintest whisper as his shoes slide over the stone dock. She can't even smell him because of the smells of the fish market and the sea. If they were in the town proper she could probably pick him out, but dead fish have a way of overpowering all other smells.

She hears the Returners coming before she sees them. Leo had declined to disclose their identities to her, but she could guess that at least one of them would be Terra. They'd need her powers to communicate effectively with the Espers. The light, quick footsteps would be Terra's, then. She concentrates on the other set. They are quick, with more weight than Terra's, and that person is wearing boots that are well-worn enough not to squeak. The boots mean it's not Sabin, and the lighter tread would indicate it is not the Doman knight. She doesn't hear the rippling of a cloak to indicate the King of Figaro, nor the rustling of the gambler's long coat. Of course it would be the treasure hunter.

She stays back as they stride toward the ship, and listens to Leo give greetings and introductions. She approaches just as he says "Another Imperial general, and a man I hired back in town, will be accompanying us as well." She can barely make out the sound of the ninja's footsteps, behind her and to her right.

She hears the choking sound Locke makes when he sees her, and does not care for the quick, bright spark of satisfaction that she feels when he is too busy staring at her to pay heed to Leo's words. He says her name, quietly and hopefully, and she turns her back on him and walks away.

Leo catches up to her at the Inn. "Is there a problem, General Celes?" he asks, and though his tone is quiet she knows he will not leave her be until he has an answer.

"The treasure hunter and I have a bit of history," she says. "He thought I betrayed them, in the research facility."

She feels his warmth a moment before she feels his hand on her shoulder. "I can explain to him," Leo offers, and she knows it is because he feels guilty at her imprisonment.

"No," she says. "Let it be."

He hesitates a moment, and then squeezes her shoulder lightly and leaves. She seats herself on the bed, too tense to sleep as she always is before a mission, and tries to meditate.

There are two hundred and seventeen pieces of wood making up the paneling of this room. The fabric of the drapes does not quite match the bedspread, which has three faint stains upon it. The carpet is made up of a repeating pattern of triangles in six different colours, and she can see seven places where it has been mended with different yarns. The room smells of lemon wax and faintly of the sea.

Footsteps pass in the hallway repeatedly. She is quite sure she hears Terra's light tread twice, and unless she is sorely mistaken, Locke has passed her room seven times. The sixth time he paused and hesitated just outside her door. She could hear the faint sound of his breathing, not quite in time with the rhythmic wash of the ocean outside, and the faint rustle of his garments as he shifted his weight. At length he continued on without speaking or knocking.

Her efforts to focus and meditate have failed, so she rises and pulls on her boots. She is quiet as she slips through the inn and goes to the walkway outside.

The scent of the sea is heavy here, and by the stars she gauges it to be just past two in the morning. The breeze is soft, warm and silky, and the temperature has dropped to a bearable level. She can hear the city guards making their rounds, and the beat of the sea like a vast heart. Somewhere nearby, a couple laughs and murmurs to each other. She thinks she catches a glimpse of the ninja sitting on the docks, but she might be mistaken. The Magitek armour on the transport ship gleams dully in the starlight, and she can see the soldiers on duty patrolling the deck.

She hears footsteps within the inn, and the door opens. Locke's boots scrape on the stone walkway as he walks over to stand near her, some five feet to her right. She can smell him: leather, sweat, and the scent that is uniquely his. It makes her heart beat slightly faster, a physical reaction she despises. She does not need him, nor indeed anyone.

Though she does not look at him, she knows he is fidgeting by the rustling of his clothes. She can smell him still, and feel his warmth even from this distance. "Celes..." He hesitates. "Please...why won't you talk to me?"

She turns her face away and tells herself firmly that she will not speak to him.

"I know I doubted you, if only for a moment, but we can still be friends, right?" He says it slowly and awkwardly, and his hand moves closer to hers on the balustrade. She grips the weathered wood tightly. She wants, more than anything else, to turn to him and to touch him, feel that skin warm beneath her palms and breathe in his scent. But she is a general, not some foolish young girl, and so she hurries past him to somewhere else, anywhere else, hardly watching where she is going, and hears him call her name.

~*~

This entire village reeks of magic. It isn't quite a smell, nor a sound, nor something she can see or taste or feel. It is simply a sensation that skitters along her nerves, sharp and nervous and quick like an electrical charge. Everyone here claims not to know anything about magic, but she can feel that they do, can feel the bright sizzle of magic every time she draws near one of them. The others found the Espers in the mountain range, and that only intensified the feel of magic here. She is dizzy from it, lost in a maelstrom of power.

She is so lost in it that she doesn't even realize Kefka has arrived until the shock of his first attack reverberates through the magic, the sudden chaos snapping her out of her trance. Her sword flies into her hands and she kills the soldiers who accompanied Kefka, trying to fight her way to General Leo, who for all his skill with the sword is no match for Kefka's magic-fueled insanity. She kills the last soldier just in time to see Kefka's magic strike Leo down where he stands.

While Kefka laughs, she races forward, her strongest Cure spells already flowing from her hands into Leo's body. It is not enough, it won't fix what is wrong, but she keeps trying, the words tumbling over each other as she strains to keep him alive.

"Celes." That is not Leo's voice, so thready and weak, and she feels tears sliding warm and wet down her cheeks as she prepares another Cure spell. His hand brushes hers, and she can hear the rattling of air in his lungs. He cannot die, cannot leave her here by herself. Another Cura, if she can just cast the spell with enough strength it will fix him. She clasps his hand tight in hers, trying not to notice that he does not grip her hand with the strength he always has.

His fingers twitch in hers, a faint little squeeze, and he is almost smiling. She is only dimly aware of the chaos Kefka is wreaking all around them, all her attention focused on Leo. "I know you will do what's right," he says slowly, painfully. "Godspeed, Celes."

His hand is lax in hers, and the rattling of his breath ceases. She casts Raise, casts Cura again, to no avail, and try as she might she can draw no more power out of herself.

Warm hands close gently on her shoulders and tug her up. She smells Leo's blood, the foul coppery stench of death, and also leather and oil and a scent she knows well. "Stop," Locke says quietly against her ear. "You can't do anything for him now." His voice breaks a little, and if not for that, she might have struck him for stopping her, because surely another spell...

"Stop," he says again, his hands sliding down her arms to wrap his arms gently around her waist.

Generals do not cry. She cannot stop the tears. She wants so badly to lean back against him and feel his comforting warmth, and none of the usual insults she employs to enforce her self-discipline are having an effect.

She lets him lead her away, lets him take her to the inn and nudge her toward one of the beds. She doesn't even fight it when he casts Sleep on her, for even the blankness of being forcibly knocked unconscious is better than _feeling_ so much.


End file.
